I’m a feminist not a sexist… gerrit?

I’ve been thinking of doing an article on Nigerian people (mostly women) who go on and on and on (ad infinitum) about their not being feminists, on the other hand I was thinking I shouldn’t because… ‘hey, it’s alright, your opinions are valid’. And because it’s a pleasure seeing women expressing their opinions, no matter how reprehensible I personally find it, that’s what feminism is about, giving voice to people the society has fought for so long to silence…
… but … there are times that these fingers of mine just can’t keep their thoughts to themselves, they are too opinionated for their own good… and their opinions are as valid as yours.

One of the things I try to do before jumping into any conversation (in my usual half-assed, screeching, bush-Ibadan-woman way) is try to understand the other person’s side of a story. So I’ve read a whole slew of articles (written mostly by Nigerian women) on why they do not like the label – feminist – being used on them. And the one thing I’ve come away with is that most of these women keep confusing feminism with sexism… the summary of their arguments? ‘I believe in equality but I don’t hate men, so I’m not a feminist’, I guess this is as opposed to ‘I believe in equality, I hate men, so I’m a feminist’.
Well I’m a feminist, I believe in equality and I do not hate men.
My men can attest to this. I grew up with a bunch of feisty men. I’ve loved some as friends, I’ve loved some as part of my support network, I’ve loved some at the back of cars, up a wall, on chairs, in trains (no I’ve not joined the Mile High Club or whatever they call themselves…yet). I’ve loved them in the missionary position, doggy style, straddling… don’t let us get side-tracked here but you got it, right?
Now, a feminist is someone who believes that men, women, trans, asexuals, intersex or whatever label you paste on yourself (or whichever one the society has stuck on you) are first and foremost, HUMAN BEINGS, and should be treated as such… equally.
Everybody should be treated equally.
Nobody should be fired because they are pregnant, or don’t look feminine/masculine enough.
Everybody should have rights to justice, should live their lives fully without being afraid that they’ll get raped because of the way they dress or are undressed. They should get equal pay for equal work. Should be able to choose how they want to live their lives, without being judged by the ‘society’.
They should be free enough to choose whether to marry or not, to have children or not, to make career choices based on their abilities not because they have been told to or not, or because they are afraid there won’t be room for promotion for them because they are going into a field dominated by one sex or the other.
A society where equality is a tangible fact, not something someone is paying lip service to by forming ‘Ministry for Women and Youths and Children and the Disadvantaged and fools and idiots’ or distributing stoves to women so that they won’t return to the kitchen (oxymoronic right?).
Feminism goes beyond hashtags and social media banters, it is when women (mostly feminists) spend almost fifteen to twenty years pushing a bill called ‘Violence Against Persons’ into law. When they stepped in to make sure that the IDP’s do not go hungry or naked. When they are presently working on changing the language of our constitution so that someone cannot decide to marry off a 3months old child and there’s nothing you can do about it because the constitution clearly states that anybody who is married is a woman or you can’t bestow your citizenship on your spouse or partner because you are female.
Feminism is about working on inheritance rights, so that women can have access to the lands they work on.
Feminism is beyond Facebook or Twitter ‘rants’.
They are not rants, you moron! It is giving voice to people who have been systemically silenced over the years because you can’t talk too loudly or complain about the way you’re being treated simply because you’re of a certain sex or you will not be considered a ‘lady’.
Feminism is about giving platform to women who have been abused beyond your self-satisfied lower middle class smirk about how YOUR husband pays ALL the bills so what’s the big deal about a slap or two here and there? And how sharing house-hold chores is no big deal because you have a fucking under-aged boy or girl enslaved in your house in guise of a ‘houseboy’ or ‘housegirl’.
We are talking about women whose husbands take iron rods to them at the slightest provocation, break-bottles on their heads, turn them into punching bags. Women who genuinely have nowhere else to go, because they are economically disadvantaged and not staying in abusive relationships because they love the title of ‘Mrs’ so much they’d go through hell and fire and brimstone to keep it.
This as far as I’m concerned is a simple thing, as simple as abc. Unfortunately there is no equality anywhere, there is no justice (just us) but there is such a thing as the patriarchy. A system that has been so institutionalized it has even succeeded in making the oppressed oppress other people. It stands to reason that if you were bullied by your mother-in-law, for example, chances are that you will bully your daughter/son-in-law. If your clitoris was cut off as a child and you never got to feel sexual pleasure, chances are that you will cut off the clitoris of your female child.
There is no such thing as the Matriarchy or whatever ojuju is lying inside your wardrobe at night about to jump out and eat you up because you call yourself a feminist.
Feminism is not a cult, it is a choice… you can actually choose to be one or not. Nobody is trying to ‘recruit’ you or force you to work for the emancipation of women who are not as advantaged as you. It is not a superstardom, in fact you lose a lot when you’re tagged a feminist but you gain yourself freedom from mental slavery. Nobody will knight you or pay you for being a feminist. The fact that you even have a choice is because some people in the past (or presently) have decided they’ve had enough of being oppressed, refused the right to vote, raped in the name of child marriage or any kind of marriage, paid a pittance for what men are getting loads of money for doing.
Feminism is activism not for the faint hearted.
So please keep apologizing for daring to believe in equal rights and emancipation of the sexes, in fact you can continue jeering at women who are feminist, but please, get your fucking facts straight while doing all these, because you just look plain stupid.
Repeat after me … feminism is NOT sexism.

Yes to Domestic Viiolence: Why we should give up and give in (II)

Nigerian Justice is not a Lady - With Temilolu Bamgbose

Justista, the Roman deity that represents justice is female. She is the ancestor of the modern-day, double-edged-sword-wielding, scale-carrying, Lady Justice who stands (or sits as the case may be) outside every courthouse or institution saddled with the responsibility of upholding the law of any community.
Yet, many people agree with the view American feminist and lawyer, Catherine Mackinnon expressed in her essay Feminism, Marxism, Method, and the State: Toward Feminist Jurisprudence, that “the state is male and the law is an expression of a male point of view…The law sees and treat women the way the men see and treat women.”
Mackinnon’s assertion is particularly true in Nigeria, in view of the language used in the Nigerian Constitution, where “his and he” were used for humans, except for sections concerning women or children, and in most cases these references emphasise the fact that women are considered second class citizens, it makes women “the other”.
“Women” was used twice in the constitution (in connection with Social Services), women were, of course, grouped with children because it stands to reason that women need “nurturing” since they are in the same group with the “disadvantaged” and are considered “vulnerable” by the Nigerian State.
This assertion is proven under the law establishing Abuja as the Federal Capital Territory which states that “Social Services and Development includes the provision of a nurturing environment for women and children in the Territory, seeing critical social enablers such as the provision of microfinance for vulnerable and disadvantage groups...” (Establishment of Functionaries and Departments) and Ministry of the Federal Capital Territory (Dissolution) Order No. 1, 2004 S.I.4 Of 2005
The word “woman” also appeared in the Nigerian Constitution twice, the first was in Section 26, subsection 2(a) which says that a person may be registered as a citizen of Nigeria if the president is satisfied that the person has good character, shown a desire to be domiciled in Nigeria and has taken the Oath of Allegiance but the section only applies to -
(a) any woman who is or has been married to a citizen of Nigeria;
What the section says in essence is that only Nigerian men can bequeath their citizenship on their spouses. So, if a Nigerian woman marries a foreigner, he is not eligible for Nigerian citizenship (kind of similar to traditional marriage in some Nigerian communities, once a woman gets married, she is no longer considered part of her parents community).
It was used again in Section 29, subsection 4(b), where, in spite of the fact that the subject of renunciation of citizenship was being addressed, our lawmakers were able to sneak in the point that “any woman who is married shall be deemed to be of full age”, and since the Matrimonial Causes Acts (CAP 220 LFN) did not provide any minimum age for marriage, it means a girl married off at say, three years of age, is considered an adult in Nigeria.
The law specifically allows an under aged married woman to revoke her citizenship even when she has not attained the constitutional voting age and there is no corresponding provision treating a male married minor as an adult. A female minor is allowed to marry, but not allowed to vote... in Nigeria.
A Police woman must submit her prospective husband details for approval before marriage. As a “vulnerable” set of creatures, the Nigerian Police insists that women police must apply for permission to marry, in case she’s stupid (as women are considered to be) enough to marry a criminal or maybe someone just not “good enough” for her.
Police Regulation Act, 124. Women police to apply for permission to marry [L.N. 93 of 1968.]

A woman police officer who is desirous of marrying must first apply in writing to the commissioner of police for the State Police command in which she is serving, requesting permission to marry and giving the name, address, and occupation of the person she in- tends to marry. Permission will be granted for the marriage if the intended husband is of good character and the woman police officer has served in the Force for a period of not less than three years. [L.N. 93 of 1968.]
The Nigerian Police is your friend, and your father and your “big brother”, looking out for you because you are the “weaker” sex and cannot make sane decisions, particularly when you’re about to make a life changing decision, like ... marriage and because of their kindness they will not allow you to marry as soon as you join the force, you need to wait for a period of three years. Unfortunately, under-aged girls do not get to enjoy this luxury because they did not join the Nigerian Police.
No similar provision is made for men, therefore a male police officer can marry anybody, at any time, because, they are the more intelligent set of human beings.
Not wanting to be left out, the Nigerian Labour law states in Section 55 that:
‘...no woman shall be employed on night work in a public or private industrial undertaking or in any branch thereof, or in any agricultural undertaking or any branch thereof.’ (2) Subsection (1) of this section shall not apply to women employed as nurses, in any public or private industrial undertaking or in any agricultural undertaking, nor to women holding responsible positions of management who are not ordinarily engaged in manual labour’.
We believe that this is due to the fact that the primary “work” of a woman is done properly “at night” preferably “in bed”. Although female nurses are exempt from this wonderful clause, female doctors are not (or maybe they were left out because there are NO female doctors in Nigeria!)
The upside of this law is that since there are no laws in place concerning sex work in Nigeria - yes you read that right, sex-work is not illegal in Nigeria( not in the constitution, criminal code or penal code were they mentioned), sex workers are allowed to work during the daytime.
Section 56 of the Act also provides:
(1) Subject to subsection (2) of this section, no woman shall be employed on underground work in any mine.  (2) Subsection (1) of this section shall not apply to:
(a) Women holding positions of management who do not perform manual labour; or 
(b) Women employed in health and welfare services; or
(c) Women who in course of their studies spend a period of training in underground parts of a mine; or
(d) Any other woman who may occasionally have to enter the underground parts of mine for the purpose of a non-manual occupation.
Nigerian women are not allowed to be miners, or archeologists, or cave explorers, except when you’re studying to be a miner or an archeologist, but after your study you may “occasionally” enter the underground parts.
In the criminal code, the indecent assault of a female as a misdemeanour punishable by imprisonment of a statutory maximum of two years (see Section 222 Criminal Code Act Cap 38 LFN). If the girl is thirteen years old, the maximum imprisonment is three years, while the same offence when committed against a male attracts punishment with a term of imprisonment of more than three years.
The above code is the endorsement of the widely held belief that boys are more “important”, more “valuable” than girls, because assaulting a girl can only get you two years imprisonment but if you dare assault a boy, then you’re in for a long haul in the Nigerian prisons system.
In order to make no bones about the position of the ‘Nigerian People’ on domestic violence and child abuse the penal code Section 55. (1) states that “Nothing is an offence which does not amount to the infliction of child, pupil, grievous hurt upon a person and which is done-…”
(d) by a husband for the purpose of correcting his wife such husband and wife being subject to any customary law in which the correction is recognised as lawful.
This is an express permission for wife-beating insofar as it does not cause grievous harm (S55 of the Penal Code). The defence f:-) or reasonable chastisement is that the husband and wife are subject to native law and custom that recognises such corrections.
In Nigerian English, you may beat your wife or child, as long as you do not cause “grievous harm” to them, the question now is, who measures what “grievous harm” is, does it mean you may break an arm or a leg as long as it’s not totally detached from your victim’s body, or is there a specific amount of blood, considered “grievous”?
From the above, it is apparent that Justista has no business adorning our halls of “justice”, the law in Nigeria is blind to equality, Nigerian law is not a lady ... Nigerian law is not a gentleman.

#WhyIStayed – A case for Domestic Violence

One out of three women, worldwide, have experienced violence, and most often from family members ie parents, spouses etc.
Domestic violence was defined by Helpguide.com as “... when one person in an intimate relationship or marriage tries to dominate and control the other person... [using means which] includes physical violence...”
Earlier this month somebody posted on YouTube the recording of a Baltimore Ravens running back, Ray Rice, punching his fiancée, Janay Palmer (now his wife), so hard she became unconscious.
This video sparked outrage all across America, and Ray Rice’s contract with Baltimore Ravens was immediately terminated while the National Football League (ie American football not Soccer) placed him on indefinite suspension. The day following the incidence women across the world, who are (or have been) victims of domestic violence, took to twitter to explain to the world why it took them so long to leave their abusive spouses or why they were still with their abusers.
The debate took an interesting turn when Nigerians on twitter weighed in on the issue, using the hashtag #WhyIStayed #WhyILeft. There were voices claiming that most abused women deserved it and others (mostly women) saying that domestic violence is evil.
This is in face of the fact that a large percentage of Nigerian women aged 15-25 believes that wife beating is justified (91% in the South-West and 93.5% in the South-South *.) and in the penal code there’s a law which says “Women may be beaten as long as bodily harm is not caused.

Signs that you might be in an abusive relationship

The victims of domestic violence are not just spouses, the children of such marriages often experience emotional trauma which lasts into adulthood.
In an interview conducted with Ugo Chime(not-real-name), a public health and policy consultant, who, after the furore on twitter blogged about her experience as a child raised in a home where domestic violence occurred*, Ugo claimed she’d always been conscious of the fact that her parents quarreled a lot, but never saw her father hit her mother until she got to primary three. She also mentioned that her mother claims that was not the first time her father would hit her. Ugo says of her father, “…except for that one episode when it got physical, it was mostly the shouting matches that we endured, and those times it was very scary, we [she, her siblings and her mother] hid away… for the months he was around we watched ourselves, don’t laugh too much, he’d think we are having too much without him, don’t frown, so it doesn’t look like we couldn’t wait for him to go back [to Europe where he was working].”
When asked if her childhood experiences had affected her relationship with her father, she said “… there are so many phases to my relationship with my dad, loads of periods of not speaking and then reconciliations, it isn’t so much what he did in the past that causes the rifts, but what he keeps doing…very hurtful things and sometimes you feel you’ve reached your limit.”
Although Ugo’s parents are now divorced, they were married for thirty years (with a two year break), Ugo’s mother stayed because of her children.
Tokunbo Koiki, a psychologist who is currently a social worker and advocate for women and children’s rights in the UK, did not wait for thirty years before leaving her partner, a Nigerian man born and raised in England.
According to her “The first assault happened, I think after about 4months [of our relationship]. I remember we had gone out then went back to his place, as I often stayed over, he wanted me to cook stew and I didn't want to (can’t remember exactly why as I usually did) Next thing I recall is lying on the floor, in his room, with him using my own hand as a fist to punch me repeatedly. Tried to fight back and my screams were loud enough that a neighbour called the cops and he was arrested and charged ...but within a few weeks I had forgiven him and went for counselling as I was just finishing my psychology degree and about to go off on a gap year to help battered women in South Africa. The irony of life hey!”
“My memory of the whole relationship is hazy but I remember another time we were arguing in the car and he made me so mad I deliberately crashed into a pole (was very hot headed back then).”
When asked what made her decide to leave him she had this to say “... after another fight he was apologising and in the same breath telling me how his ex used to make him so mad he would beat her. I mean here I was, a recent graduate and he didn't even finish school. I knew I had prospects so it was easy to walk away. I cut him off completely and he never contacted me again. I remember next time I saw him was when I had to testify [against him] in court, but he got off.”
Ugo’s mother left after thirty years and Tokunbo’s relationship lasted for seven months, but there are women (and men) still living with their abusers for economic reasons, or are being threatened with more violence, some even believe they love their abusers and are afraid of being isolated or seen as a pariah in the society.
Abuse Circle

Says Tokunbo Koiki “Women need first of all to understand that they are not alone and that they decide to stay does not make them less of a victim nor does it make it okay for family and friends to abandon them.”
Presently, out of the 36 states in Nigeria, only Lagos State has promulgated a law on domestic violence.
Data from a study, published in a British Council report titled “Gender in Nigeria Report 2012: Improving the Lives of Girls and Women in Nigeria, Issues, Policies, Action” shows that in the South-West of Nigeria ,47.5% of 15-24y/o (unmarried) and 43.7%(married or separated) , while in the South-South 33.4% and 28.8% respectively. Which means 92% of women, living in the South-West, and 62% of women living in the South-South of Nigeria experienced violence in 2012.

Violence in the South-West and South-South of Nigeria, 2012

There are many NGO’s working to protect women from domestic violence, and one of the foremost ones is Women Advocates Research and Documentation Center(WARDC).You may contact them at 08180056401 (free and confidentiality is guaranteed) if you have any questions.


*2008 National Demographic Health Survey, NDHS
*http://knottypants.blogspot.com/2014/09/whyistayed-my-mom-stayed-and-for-this.html

Two Cows - A bitter woman's perspective

( Adapted from Mathias Varga's 'Two Cows')
(Art-Kehinde Awofeso)

Socialism

You have two cows
You give one to your husband

Communism
You have two cows
Your husband takes both cows and kisses you rather fondly

Fascism
You have two cows
Your husband takes both cows and just one mistress  (instead of two, or three, or more...) and one olosho

Nazism
You have two cows
Your husband takes both cows, divorces you and marries a new wife

Bureaucratism
You have two cows
Your husband takes the cows, accidentally shoots one, and dashes the other to his mistress to be well cooked in peppersoup, throws an owambe party, didn't invite you, neither did he attend the party. You both drank garri for breakfast.

Traditional Capitalism
You have two cows
Your husband takes them, sells them, buys a second-hand car, empties your bank account, builds a house and marries two new wives

Nigerian Banks Capitalism
You have two cows
Your husband takes them, collects all your money, sells off your jewelry, collects monthly house rents from you, charges you for sex, sells the cows to your parents at a profit and then tiff the cows.

Surrealism
You have two white elephants.
Your husband's seventh mistress just had their third baby.

The Government
You have two cows.
Your husband takes both cows, joins the organization for husbands with unlimited access to cows, sells the cows at a huge profit, keeps the money in your joint account, steals the money, hides it in a swiss bank and tells the whole world 'my family is not poor' in spite of your children's lack of shoes ... after all you're married to a rich man.

About Feminism, the patriarchy and the pepper seller

I didn’t realize I was a feminist till I hit my late twenties.

Not that I didn’t know the word itself, but I’d never seen anything ‘feminine’ about myself, and I never thought men were trying to oppress me, so why should I want to fight something called the patriarchy?

Up till that point I had no words to describe that frustration I felt whenever I was told I couldn’t do certain things simply because I am a ‘girl’. I couldn’t sit in a certain fashion, talk too loudly, pick my nose in public, scratch that itch eating ay at my legs, wear certain things to certain places simply because it is ‘unladylike’.

My question usually is … who made you the master of ‘lady?’ and what makes you think I want to be a ‘lady’?

In my early teens, I was ‘allowed’ to run wild, by the ‘guardians of our morals’, because it was still okay. I even got an encouraging smile or two, being a flat chested tomboy was soo … cute.

But.

There was no word for a woman in her early twenties, with a propensity for wearing trousers and weird haircuts, who had a string of lovers and more male friends than was permissible … well, except for ‘slut’.

Then I became a single parent, the society I grew up in breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Maybe her head will settle into one place now that she’s in trouble.”

“Maybe she won’t, look at her lineage, a long line of wild women who live by their own rules, I doubt she ever will.”

But the ‘words of wisdom’ never ceased coming.

The moral guardians of our society were afraid their daughters will somehow sip from my cup and become infected with my psychosis, they watched closely. Theirs are the eyes that saw at midnight, the ones feeding off the blood of innocent ones while I slip out of my home to party hard. They knew I was trouble.

Or maybe I should have started this note from a conversation held with Temitayo Amogunla, (nee Olofinlua) who came visiting with her baby a few months ago. She complained bitterly about the women who practically stampeded her, in a bid to bully her out of strapping her baby to her chest, instead of 'backing' him, the ‘traditional’ way – secured to the back with a wrapper and a smaller scarf called ‘oja’.

A few months later, Jumoke Verissimo experienced the same angry, almost mob-like, reaction from strangers, who felt they had a right to dictate how she should carry her baby, simply because they were … older females.

That was when I told Jumoke something I’d known since the day the word ‘feminism’ crept into my dictionary, that women are the patriarchs.

Yes, the ‘patriarchy’ inherently is a male dominated order, but I put it to you that women are the guardians, the guardians of the rules, the guardians of our morals, the guardians of what to do, what not to do, how to be a lady, why you have to stay married to your abusive husband, why you have to be married at all.

I even dare say women made some, if not all of these rules.

The evidence is there, in the market places, where real, not virtual, affectations are at play. Those women, who plant, reap and sell you the tomatoes, onions and what-nots you use in your meals. The pepper sellers, those whom city dwellers often think of in terms of ‘poor, downtrodden things’. They are not 'poor' or 'downtrodden', they have studied the patriarchal system and they use it.

They use it to bully you into buying their stuff more expensively than you normally would because your skirt is not long enough, your make up is too much, they talk rudely to you when you strap your baby to your chest, because they have the right to shame you on behalf of the men.

Some hair splitters might say women in the north do not go to the market. But who whispers guilt inducing sweet-nothings in the mai-gida’s ears at night? Definitely not his male lovers!

I’ve watched these women operate, on their daughters and other women.

But wait ... it's not only the pepper sellers who go out of their way to make you feel the pain of the patriarchy as you conduct your daily business.

Let's talk about the gadget wielding generation of patriarchs with blood red nails. Go online and check out those horrible pictures of women beaten black and blue, their clothes torn off, with the caption ‘woman caught stealing pepper’ and check out the vituperation, now check the list of names, you’ll notice that more comments will come from the women, the worst comments come from the women.

Our psyche has been assaulted for so long that we’ve become the abusers in our own tales of woe. We perpetuate the abuse, the reign of the dictators.

Our places of religion are filled with women, have you ever wondered why so few of them own private jets?

Who are the people responsible for shaving off the hair of women who have lost their husbands, who are those that force feed them with water taken from the bath of the dead body, who forces them to wail and gnash their teeth and declaim their innocence of the murder of the dead husband?

Who knows the juiciest gossips about the sex life of other women and shares it gleefully?

Who tells you it’s a thing of shame to tell anybody you’ve been raped?

Who teaches their daughters to cook while their sons play out in the sun?

Who tells you that the course you’re about to take is too ‘masculine’ that you should go for a more ‘feminine’ course … like … literature?

Who determines what is ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ in the society?

Who birthed these ‘patriarchs’?

What would it take to end rape in Nigeria? A simple case of teaching our sons that there is no difference between men and women, that women deserve to be treated equally, with respect, that every woman, no matter her sex, deserves to be respected.

Where else in the world would a Chief Judge (male) get invited to an all female event (made up of judges) and pronounce that ‘rape is self-inflicted’ and GET AWAY WITH IT!(check out my blog on rape here )

Where else in the world but in Nigeria, where the women have taken up arms for the patriarchy, a country where an elected, sitting, female, Senator goes into the Upper House and pushes a legislature concerning the length of women’s dresses through. Where a child of ten, as long as she is married, is constitutionally recognized as an adult and when people protested about the fact that a child of ten should NOT be married, some women in the House of Assembly (or is it Reps) ‘refrained’ from voting? Where women are arrested for 'prostituting', simply because they do not have a ‘male’ partner with them when they go out during certain hours of the day.

When will we finally admit to ourselves that we appear to be our own patriarchs? We the prisoners are now guarding the prisons, while the guards are having the time of their lives.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to kick off women from my Face Book wall or blocked them from my twitter account because of the kind of anti-women stance they take.

Women tell other women they are beautiful, well except for the fact that you’re not wearing these Peruvian weaves, or have your hair ‘done’ naturally, or look this thin, or have your stomach this flat or your skin this light, this dark, your yansh … this big!

When will we finally admit to ourselves that the picture of that hardworking woman, with a baby strapped to her back, a pestle in hand and a determined frown on her face is our Mother Africa, our all consuming patriarch? When will we stop treating one another as present or non-existent sexual appendages, look one another in the eye, and admit that we are all simply … human.


Words … fail … me.

Stolen … Chickens are sweet

“I used to steal chickens,” she blurted as we walked down the beach.

I knew it! I knew she was in her ‘confession’ mode the way she’d gone all intense when she took her first drag.

“Congratulations,” I drawled laconically, “I’m glad you’ve moved on to stealing bigger and better things.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love Tosin. She’s my closest friend, a non-judgmental spirit, whose company soothes me because she knows when to talk and when to shut the hell up.

But, like the rest of us, she has her flaws, and the most irritating one is her compulsion to confess stuff. There’s nothing I detest as much as people confessing stuff to me. I mean, do I look like a reverend father? Kindly keep your confessions to yourself man, I don’t want to know the shit you’ve been up to. I’ve been up to a lot of crap myself, but do you see me going around looking for someone to unburden myself on? Why should I make myself feel better and leave you feeling as if it was your fault I did what I’ve done? What’s the point in that?

“I’m serious here Tobi, when I was at that Polytechnic up North, I used to steal the chickens in my neighbourhood.” She looked at me earnestly, as if telling me this would transfer a million naira into my account or change the pump price of petrol.

“Okay, you used to steal chicken.” I said.

“Don’t you believe me? Don’t I look like a chicken stealer?” She asked as a big wave came whooshing out of the sea and hit the sands beneath our feet with a boom.

I stopped and stared at the breathtaking sight in front of me. The full moon shone down on the sea, which was the colour of black coffee. The water looked darkly inviting, silky, smooth, like Irish Cream sliding down your throat. I knew if I touched the sea, it would be thick between my fingers, sensuous. I can hold it, I can hold water, I want to bunch it up in my fist and allow the smoothness to run through my fingers.

I also knew it was the Mary J in-between my thumb and forefinger thinking.

“I used to be the best chicken stealer in my school in those days. I mean, students from other neighborhoods would invite me over to their place to steal chickens for them. I was that good.” Tosin broke into my thoughts.

I looked down at her in surprise, for a moment there I’d forgotten she was walking beside me. That’s the thing about her. She has that ability to melt into you, making you feel like you’re two parts of a whole. She has this knack for sharing your experiences with you. She's Ogbanje.

"You need to be real quiet when you are about to steal a chicken, " she said as she took two quick puffs and tossed the butt towards the sea, "you need that element of surprise when you grab it's neck, so that it doesn't start squawking.”

The moon made her yellow skin almost white. She had escaped being an albino by the skin of her teeth.

“Are we still on this chicken thing?” I asked.

She nodded.

“You should stop smoking weed girl, it does not agree with you.” I said.

“Listen, I’m serious. I mean I spent a lot of time in heaven knows how many universities and polytechnics across Nigeria, I might not have obtained one single certificate from any of them, but I was really good at stealing chicken.” She said earnestly.

I love her crazy eyes. One moment you’d think she was looking at someone over your shoulders, the next her eyes would tangle with yours.

She has ogbanje eyes.

I smiled.

“Well, thank heavens you acquired one skill. I’m sure your parents are proud.” I continued walking, trying to lessen my long strides to accommodate her shorter ones.

Tosin is delusional about her height. Everybody in the world except her knows that she barely tops 5feet, but she thinks she’s a giant.

Tosin is delusional about a lot of things.

She’s delusional about my feelings for her.

"I love you, but not like that." She would say in that deep voice of hers which is so at odds with her feminine curves.

How do you tell someone you’ve known practically all your life that you are in love with her, her mind, her craziness? How do you tell someone who does not see herself as beautiful that she’s the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever known? That you love her droopy tits, her round stomach and even rounder behind? How do you tell someone who treats you like part of the furniture when she’s taking off her clothes that she’s the most sensuous being you’ve ever known, that every girl you’ve dated paled beside her?

She'd be sleeping beside me and it would take a lot of self control for me not to curl around her.

I allowed my bare feet to sink into the sand, gritty and smooth, both at the same time. The sand and Tosin. Gritty and smooth.

“So there was this day I stole my next door neighbour’s chicken.” She said as I took a final drag and allowed the bit of rizzler in my hand to float to the ground.

“We are still on this chicken issue,”I said flatly.

She ignored my tone and continued urgently, “and then she started looking for it. As she searched for the chicken, I felt really guilty, I mean this woman is poor. She has a drunk for a husband and about six children all under the age of seven. She sells sweets, cigarettes and other little things by the roadside and barely made enough to feed herself, talk less of her family, and I had just eaten the wings of her only chicken. The guilt was so intense.”

I looked at her and smiled.

“So did you confess that you stole her chicken?” I finally asked as another wave hit the sand, pushing foamy water our way.

“I did, but she didn’t believe me.” She said sadly, “when she knocked at my door and asked her if I’d seen her chicken, I told her it was inside my pot, she only laughed and said I should please keep an eye out for it, she planned to serve it to her in-laws when they come visiting the next day. I felt really bad. Why is it that nobody ever takes me seriously?”

“Wouldn’t you feel like something is wrong if someone suddenly starts taking you seriously?” I asked her. She looked at back at me, eyes skewed.

“Let’s head back.” I said as I held out my hand to her.

She placed hers inside it. I looked at her slim, elegant fingers and kissed each one tenderly.

She laughed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked.

“I’m going to take you to my place and kiss every inch of your body.” I answered.